66 He could, we see, at the time he was writing instruction from the Queen, addresse 1, so it is his Essais," begin a book, and return to it indorsed in the MS. copy preserved in the day after day till it was read through. In Bibliothèque Impériale (collection Dupuy), the last page he has written, in his small and "Au roy Charles IX. peu après sa majorité.” fine hand, a short appreciation of the book It is a piece of no little curiosity in itself. and its author. This was his usual custom It belongs, indeed, to general history, and is when he had finished a work. He adopted as widely known as the farewell letter which another Medicis addressed to his young twelve year old cardinal (afterwards Leo X) But it concerns us at present not by its contents, but by a postscript of three lines, as follows: -"Monsieur my son, do not take it amiss that I have made Montaigne write out this letter; I did it that you might read it better. Catherine." · it, he says (11. 10), to meet the extreme treachery of his memory. This was so great that it had happened to him more than once to take up a volume which he had carefully read a few years before as if it was a new book. On comparison of the appreciation of "Caesar," which occupies thirty-six lines of close writing, with the 34th chapter of the 2nd book of the "Essais "we find that This letter made its first appearance in the essay is a greatly improved development print in Le Laboureur's additions to the of the annotation. Indeed, it is more than" Memoirs of Castlenau," in 1659. Which improved. The judgment passed on "Caesar" of Montaigne's biographers may claim the in the annotation is imperfect, and fails in credit of having transported the new fact" doing justice to him. In the essay Montaigne | into Montaigne's biography we have not asrises to a far higher elevation, and indicates certained. But before the beginning of the a much more matured point of view. Now, present century Montaigne's Secretariate to the aperçu, as we have seen, was written in the Queen had become an accredited event. 1578. The "Essays" were published in One of them, M. Jay, comments thus ;1580. Thus we gather that it was not" Those who have studied the character and Montaigne's habit to dismiss a book from his manners of Catherine de Medicis, and who thoughts when he had finished it and recorded have read with attention the reflections of sentence on it. It might continue to occupy Montaigne himself on the rights and duties his meditations and grow upon his thoughts. of princes, will easily recognize that the The casual and discontinuous turning over of Avis' are the composition of Montaigne books, he tells of, was the external aid to a himself." Thus history made itself as it methodical and solid process of digestion. went on through the hands of slipshod The duties, whatever they were, of "Gen- litterateurs. From copyist, Montaigne betlemen in ordinary to the bedchamber were came author, of Catherine's letter. the only ones which Montaigne ever discharged soon as a discerning eye was directed to the at court. Difficulties still uncleared surround evidence on which the "Secretariate" rested, this function. Its date is uncertain, and we it was seen at a glance that the identification know not how to reconcile it with Montaigne's of the ameanuensis of the "Avis " with the own assertion that he had never received essayist was a pure conjecture. And the from any prince a "double" either as wages indefatigable labors of Dr. Payen have or free-gift. Leaving these interesting nauds brought to light the existence of a François to the discussion of the biographer that is to Montaigne, Secretary in Ordinary of the come, we have to speak of the great question Chamber of the King and the Queen-Mother. of the secretaryship. For many years all M. Grün devotes fifteen pages to the correcthe lives and eloges of Montaigne had repeated tion of this error. It is a piece of historical that he at one time filled the office of secre- reasoning which is a fair specimen of his tary to the Queen Dowager Catherine de book. The case is plausibly and forcibly Medicis. This would have changed the com- put: but that is all. IIe creates at least as plexion of his life indeed, and would have of much error as he rectifies. He makes out itself turned the scale decisively in favor of Catherine's Montaigne to be Jacques de M. Grün's views. This mistake, for such it Montagne, "advocat-général" at Montpellier is, and nothing more, arose from the negli- in 1560. The forensic skill with which the gent, assumptive habits of the literary biog- evidence is marshalled covers a quantity of raphers. There is preserved a letter of conjectural assumption which, much more But as The third and last period of Montaigne's life extends from ætat. 50-59. This includes a portion of his career which may with more justice be entitled his " public life." Any expectation than the concluding blunders, must entirely and did not affect, to lead. destroy M. Grün's credit as an historical that he should have taken a prominent part critic. in the transactions of his time arises in us from our looking back to his life through the halo of his after-fame. We think that so much wordly wisdom and solid sense must have made itself felt on the theatre of public affairs. It is sufficiently apparent, notwithstanding M. Grün's violent efforts to drag him forward, that Montaigne's indolent and meditative temperament kept him remote from the turmoil of public life. That he was in any degree forced into active duties is to be ascribed to the same easy disposition. He allowed his friends to impose labors which he would never have assumed. "Je ne me mets point hors de moi." "Il se faut prêter à autrui, et ne se donner qu'à soi même." These are his characteristic maxims. He is no Hamlet, however. When action is thrust upon him, he is vigilant, steady, and efficient in its performance. He received the announcement of his nomination to the mayoralty of Bordeaux at the baths Della Villa, near Lucca; but, faithful to his resolution to have done with "public life," he declined the honor, and, after a second visit to Rome, returned slowly into France, with the intention of resuming the peaceful and studious leisure which his long wanderings had made doubly sweet to him. He found, however, that his friends condemned his inactivity, and that the citizens of Bordeaux were resolved not to let him off. Finally he consented - not, however, till the King (Henri III.) had interposed his authority-and entered on the office in January, 1582. His administration was more than usually capable, and he received the rare honor of re-election for a second term of office. During his mayoralty, and after it, he was engaged, on more than one occasion, in transactions of public importance. The history of these, as it has been laboriously pieced together out of the correspondence, acts, registers, and other remains of the time, will be gone through with interest by the circumstantial student. The general reader may perhaps be satisfied with a summary remark upon them. All the negotiations in which Montaigne was thus engaged exhibit his character in a light consistent with what we know of him. We see that he was trusted and recognized on all hands as a gentleman of worth, honor, and experience, to whose management and discretion men were glad to intrust their interests in critical cases. In a time of general suspicion, during mortifying exclamation, "Is this all ?” protracted civil and religious warfare which had proved a "veritable school of treachery and dissimulation," the open, loyal, straightforward conduct of Montaigne gained him the confidence of both parties. But we do not see him engaged, or ambitious to be engaged, in strictly state affairs, or the more momentous crises of the difficult politics of that shifting scene. His character, wanting in energy and ambition, did not supply the defect of birth, which had not placed him among "les grands." He was not qualified, Nothing, in fact, can be less logical than to allow the splendid fame that has gathered round the "Essais" to react on our conceptions of their author's life. It would be a very vulgar inference that one who has left us a great book must have done great things. No one, indeed, would seriously argue thus, but such a feeling may insensibly influence the expectation we form. The title of the work before us, "La Vie Publique de Montaigne," appears as if it were a response to this illusory anticipation. It can only lead to disappointment. As the life of a private country gentleman, loved by his friends, respected by his enemies, trusted by all, and of whom all regretted that he shunned employment, it corresponds perfectly to the careless wisdom and unaffected sagacity of his written page. To attempt to pass him off as a public man only leads a reader to the Montaigne, stripped of the essayist, looks to us as he did to the courtiers of his own time. How, Brantôme will witness : "In our time we have seen lawyers issue from the courts, throw aside the cap and gown, and take to wearing the sword. We have seen those, I say, get the collar of St. Michael without having served at all. Thus better have stuck to his pen and gone on did the Sieur de Montaigne, who had far scribbling essays, than changed it for a sword, which did not sit so well on him. Doubtless his kinsman, the Marquis de Trans, got him knighted by the King, in order to turn the order into ridicule, for the Marquis was always a great mocker."-" Capitaines Illustres," art. Tavanne. words. And it is a significant fact that from 1659 to 1724 not a single edition of the Essais" was called for. Later times have made abundant atonement for this temporary neglect. Few other books of the sixteenth century could be named which issue from the press at the rate of one edition a year. The original editions sell at bibliomaniac prices. The "Cæsar," with his autograph, for which M. Parison gave 18 sous, was knocked down or Such was Montaigne to the courtiers of his own day. The essayist has indeed had his revenge! The growth of his fame, however, has not been continuous. During his own lifetime and for some time after his death, it was steadily on the increase. He himself saw five editions of his "Essais" through to the Duc d'Aumale at 1550 francs. the press, and thirty-one editions have been late years especially, an amount of industry counted between 1580 and 1650. There has been expended in elucidating his life and were very soon two complete translations into writings such as is only devoted to the great English, and, through Shakspeare's use of classics of a language. We believe that all Florio's version, the blood of Montaigne his fellow-laborers will agree in assigning to may be said to have flowed into the very Dr. Payen precedence in their joint efforts. veins of our literature. Pascal had studied His name, like that of Mademoiselle de Gourhim till he almost knew him by heart. But nay, must ever be associated with that of as the growth of the Siècle literature gave a Montaigne. But investigation is still in pronew direction to thought and taste, the credit gress. It is far from complete. It has not of Montaigne declined. It was not without arrived at that stage, nor have its results difficulty that he was admitted among the been yet sufficiently sifted, to allow such a authorities of the Dictionary of the Academy. biography of Montaigne to be written as will Bossuet only names him once, and then he is last, and we must regard M. Grün's volume un Montaigne." Fenelon mentions him, as a temporary and only partial substitute. but it is to reproach him with his Gascon EARLY ILLUSTRATED ENGLISH VERSIONS OF ARIOSTO.-The first English translation of Ariosto is that of Sir John Harington, of which the following is the title: "Orlando Furioso in English Heroical Verse, by John Haringto. Imprinted at London, by Richard Field, dwelling in the Black-friers by Ludgate, 1591. Folio, pp. 496. " The title is in the middle of a neat frontispiece, well executed, by Coxon; in which are introduced portraits of Harington and Ariosto; full-length figures of Mars, Venus, and Cupid. There are other ornamental devices, and a portrait of the author's favorite dog, to which an allusion is made in the notes to Book XLI. Each book is preceded by a curious engraving, showing the principal incidents described by the poet at one view. "MORTUARIES.-The second best animal was of old paid upon the death of any person to the incumbent, in satisfaction for all tithes designedly or undesignedly subtracted by the deceased VIII. c. 6, no man shall pay a mortuary except during his lifetime. But now, by stat. Hen. he died possessed of goods to the value of ten marks. If he have ten marks, but under £30, he shall pay 3s. 6d.; if above £30 and under £40, then 6s. 8d; if above £40, then he shall pay 10s.; but nowhere more than hath been accustomed."-Johnson's Vade Mecum, 1. 255. [203.] I presume mortuaries are seldom claimed, except where persons die worth £40. They are due to the clergyman of the parish where such persons die. I have myself claimed and received them for parishioners who have been buried elsewhere. Notes and Queries. VULCANIZING RUBBER.-Gas-proof rubber pipe is an article prepared by a new process of vulcanizing rubber, discovered by Mr. W. F. Shaw, of Boston. The pipe is perfectly impervious to gas by the use of a composition which forms a chemical union with the rubber, without in the least impairing its elasticity— so that the pipe is quite as serviceable as metal, while it is much more easily applied in all kinds of work, and can be manufactured of any size for a mere trifle over the cost of the rubber. From The National Magazine. BY THE AUTHORESS OF "JOHN HALIFAX, GENTLEMAN," ETC. MRS. ROCHDALE stood a good while talking at the school-gate this morning-Mrs. Rochdale, my mistress once, my friend now. My cousin, the village schoolmistress, was bemoaning over her lad George, now fighting in the Crimea, saying, poor body, "that no one could understand her feelings but a mother-a mother with an only son." Mrs. Rochdale smiled-that peculiar smile of one who has bought peace through the "constant anguish of patience"-a look which I can still trace in her face at times, and which I suppose will never wholly vanish thence. We changed the conversation, and she shortly afterwards departed. [her as with an atmosphere, making her pres- At twenty-three she became Mr. Rochdale's wife; at twenty-five his widow. From ́ that time her whole life was devoted to the son who, at a twelvemonth old, was already Lemuel Rochdale, Esquire, lord of the manor of Thorpe and Stretton-Magna, owner of one of the largest estates in the county. Poor little baby! -A mother with an only son. All the neighborhood knew the story of our Mrs. Rochdale and her son. But it had long ceased to be discussed, at least openly; though still it was told under the seal of confidence to every new-comer in our village. And still every summer I used to see any strangers who occupied my cousin's lodgings staring with all their eyes when the manorhouse carriage passed by, or peeping from over the blinds to catch a glimpse of Mrs. Rochdale. No wonder. She is, both to look at and ment while he yet trundled hoops; and long to know, a woman among a thousand. It can do no possible harm-it may do good-if I here write down her history. First let me describe her, who even yet seems to me the fairest woman I ever knew. And why should not a woman be fair at sixty? Because the beauty that lasts till then,—and it can last, for I have seen it, must be of the noblest and most satisfying kind, wholly independent of form or coloring;-a beauty such as a young woman can by no art attain, but which, once attained, no woman need ever fear to lose, till the coffin-lid, closing over its last and loveliest smile, makes of it "a joy forever." He was the puniest, sickliest baby she ever saw, I have heard my mother say; but he grew up into a fine boy and a handsome youth; not unlike Mrs. Rochdale, except that a certain hereditary pride of manner, which in her was almost beautiful,-if any pride can be beautiful,-was in him exaggerated to self-assurance and haughtiness. He was the principal person in the establish before he discarded jackets, had assumed his position as sole master of the manor-house -allowing, however, his mother to remain as sole mistress. He loved her very much, I think-better than horses, dogs, or guns; swore she was the kindest and dearest mother in England, and handsomer ten times over than any girl he knew. At which the smiling mother would shake her head in credulous incredulousness. She rarely burdened him with caresses; perhaps she had found out early that boys dislike them—at least he did: to others she always spoke of him as "my son," or "Mr. RochMrs. Rochdale was tall-too tall in youth; dale;" and her pride in him, or praise of but your well-statured women have decidedly him, was always more by implication than the advantage after forty. Her features, by open word. Yet all the house, all the more soft than strong-looking-softer still village, knew quite well how things were. under the smooth-banded gray hair-might And though they were not often seen tohave been good: I am no artist: I do not gether, except on Sundays, when, year after know. But it was not that; it was the in-year, she walked up the church-aisle, holdtangible nameless grace which surrounded ing her little son by the hand; then, fol lowed by the sturdy schoolboy; finally, leaning proudly on the youth's proud arm, -everybody said emphatically that the young squire was "his mother's own son ; passionately beloved, after the fashion of women ever since young Eve smiled down on Cain, saying, "I have gotten a man from the Lord." So he grew up to be twenty-one years old. On that day Mrs. Rochdale, for the first time since her widowhood, opened her house, and invited all the country round. The morning was devoted to the poorer guests; in the evening there was a dinner-party and ball. "Martha, you mistake. I repeat, I shall be altogether glad, even if such a chance were to happen to-day." Ah, Mrs. Rochdale, was ever any widowed mother of an only son " altogether glad" when first startled into the knowledge that she herself was not his all in the world? that some strange woman had risen up, for whose sake he was bound to leave father and mother and cleave unto his wife?" A righteous saying, but hard to be understood at first by the mothers. It afterwards struck me as an odd coincidence, that what Mrs. Rochdale had wished might happen did actually happen that same night. I dressed her, having since my girlhood been to her a sort of amateur milliner and The prettiest and beyond all question the lady's-maid. I may use the word "ama-"sweetest" girl in all our county families, teur" in its strictest sense, since it was out-among which alone it was probable or of the great love and reverence I had for her permissible that our young squire should that I had got into this habit of haunting" throw the handkerchief,"- -was Miss the manor-house. And since love begets Celandine Childe, niece and heiress of Sir love, and we always feel kindly to those we have been kind to, Mrs. Rochdale was fond of me. Through her means, and still more through herself, I gained a better education than I should have done as only her bailiff's daughter. But that is neither here nor there. Mrs. Rochdale was standing before the glass in her black velvet gown; she never wore anything but black, with sometimes a gray or lilac ribbon. She had taken out from that casket, and was clasping on her arms and neck, white and round even at five-and-forty, some long unworn family jewels. I admired them very much. "Yes, they are pretty. But I scarcely like to see myself in diamonds, Martha. I shall only wear them a few times, and then resign them to my daughter-in-law." "Your daughter-in-law? Has Mr. Rochdale-" "No," (smiling) "Mr. Rochdale has not made his choice yet, but I hope he will ere long. A young man should marry early, especially a young man of family and fortune. I shall be very glad when my son has chosen his wife." She spoke as if she thought he had nothing to do but to choose, after the fashion of kings and sultans. I smiled. She misinterpreted my thought, saying with some little severity: John Childe. I was caught by her somewhat fanciful name,-after Wordsworth's flower,-which, as I overheard Mrs. Rochdale say, admirably expressed her. I thought so too, when, peeping through the curtained ball-room door, 1 caught sight of her, distinct among all the young ladies, as one's eye lights upon a celandine in a spring meadow. She was smaller than any lady in the room-very fair, with yellow hair-the only real gold hair I ever saw. Her head drooped like a flower-cup; and her motions, always soft and quiet, reminded one of the stirrings of a flower in the grass. Her dress-as if to humor the fancy, or else Nature herself did so by making that color most suitable to the girl's complexion-was some gauzy stuff, of a soft pale green. Bright, delicate, innocent, and fair, you could hardly look at her without wishing to take her up in your bosom like a flower. The ball was a great success. Mrs. Rochdale came up to her dressing-room long after midnight, but with the bright glow of maternal pride still burning on her cheeks. She looked quite young again, forcing one to acknowledge the fact constantly avouched by the elder generation, that our mothers and grandmothers were a great deal handsomer than we. Certainly, not a belle in the ballroom could compare with Mrs. Rochdale in my eyes. I should have liked to have told her so. In a vague manner I said |